Through these melanated eyes I stare back at myself
I am not sure I know what I see
The rug has been snatched from underneath my feet
The moment I realized I knew nothing prior to the transatlantic slave trade
The moment I realized I didn’t know myself
I didn’t know the power that runs through my veins
I didn’t know of the arsenal of Gods I walk with daily
I didn’t know that my strengths were also my self imposed limitations
I didn’t know how much confusion laid dormant in my subconscious mind
I felt this burning sensation rise up in my solar plexus
Release hit me like the first time I told myself brown skin was ugly
Everything I thought I knew was a lie
But even on the road to finding my truth I still feel a little lost
I know that this is only temporary
And in due time I will come to know harmony
I am beginning to remember
But I’m not yet ready to fly
With every inch of my being I ignore the coldness of the water
One foot in
Thoughts of doubt begin to plague my mind
Goose bumps quickly find their way to the surface of my skin
Knee deep in still waters
Anxiety brings about shakes the mind cannot seem to control
Sporadic breathing sets in as my core begins to tighten
It’s like my chest is beginning to cave in
Removing myself at this point will do more harm than good
Deep breaths fill my diaphragm
As the surface kisses my collar bone the pressure becomes comforting
Salvation is near
As the wind slips past the nape of my neck
I submerge without thought
Sun rays greet me as I flow freely
This is home now
Here is where I belong
Sometimes I wonder what it is I truly desire to see as a photographer.
Do I shoot because I can or do I shoot because it is truly my passion?
I think I am more intrigued by the creation process than I am the finished product.
I am told I have an eye, but for some reason I cannot pinpoint my very own style.
I find myself focused on the technical aspects so much now I have lost sight of how glorious the human body truly is. The small hairs that grows so subtly out of every single pore spread across our delicate skin.
Composition, lighting, color.
What about me the meaning behind the image?
The intensity I breath should be felt in every image.
Why do I create?
Apparently to express my feelings.
But why do my feelings feel so lackluster?
Seems like only words can truly paint a picture of my devine being.
I think my images display my deepest insecurities.
I come alive through those I capture.
I have no flaws when I am shooting because through my eyes they are perfect.
I guess that’s why I often love the images they don’t particularly care for.
I appreciate the raw.
Maybe because I live my life in its most rawest form.
Unpainted nails and toes most men would snarl at.
Dirty sneakers and uncombed hair with my truest face always revealed to the world.
Shooting around & trying new things. Always magic with Amanda, enjoy <3
Cassia Cinnamon covers Drunk in Love
Cinematography by Rocko Seymour
Directed and Edited by Tee ShotMe
My first time ever doing something like this. Not sure how amped I’d be to do one again of this caliber. But regardless it was an amazing project and an amazing day with wonderful people. Let me know what you guys think!